


Quicksand Sleep

by silverskyfullofstars



Series: Looking For Heaven, Found The Devil In Me [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Study, Exhaustion, Gen, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverskyfullofstars/pseuds/silverskyfullofstars
Summary: A night filled with violence, and the sleep that comes after.





	Quicksand Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write a few more oneshots for this series. While it pains me to post them out of the order I wrote them in, this is the only one I'm satisfied with so far.

Exhaustion moves through his bones like a slow, soft syrup, filling the crevices of his brain and lulling him into a dreamlike stupor. The darkness, warm and heavy, settles over him like a blanket. The night calls softly.

 

The Devil had run for hours that night, hunting the streets for malicious prey. Now, like a leopard in its lair, he returns home.

 

His muscles ache with the movement of removing the suit, fitting it piece by piece into the trunk. The helmet’s glassy eyes stare out. A night breeze wraps around his shoulders from the open window.

 

The sheets are like a well, an endless softness to fall into forever. He settles into them, head on the pillow, immovable in his heavy torpor.

 

The darkness becomes like a living thing, moving and breathing above him. Sleep eludes him. He wonders if the stars have a sound. No matter how he strains, he cannot hear it.

 

The city’s heartbeat becomes his, aligning. Its breath is his breath, long and slow and steady in its strength. Its life is his life - something he has known in his bones since the existence of time.

 

Time melts, in the darkness. It sinks into rooftops and hardwood floors and silk sheets and human skin, slowing them on their path and curving the road ahead.

 

He does not dream of stories, but of colors. Blurred faces. Shadowy voices, fingertips on paper. He dreams of heartbeats.

 

The night slips away with the sun. Unseeing, he rises with it.


End file.
